


Status Post Stoneheart

by Kittles123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Continuation, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittles123/pseuds/Kittles123
Summary: Brienne and Jaime confront Lady Stoneheart.





	Status Post Stoneheart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mgsmurf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgsmurf/gifts).



> To Mgsmurf. I perused your collection of fics to see what you liked and discovered a treasure trove of fics I need to read! No matter how hard I tried, I could only think of one place to go with your words: trauma, saving, truthfulness. It’s always been an intimidating piece of canon-continuation for me, so thanks for making me go there, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to JB Online for giving us this Secret Santa exchange!

**Status Post Stoneheart**

 

Even in the dim light of the torches, Jaime could see the lie written across her face.  It hurt him more than he cared to admit.   _What of our truce in the baths, wench?  What has happened to you since I sent you on this fool quest._ He knew by her grimace, one she was failing to hide, that it pained her greatly.   _Is this the first lie you’ve ever told, Lady Brienne? And you tell it to me._

“Leave us,” Jaime said to the two scouts.  The scouts turned their horses and headed back out into the dark forest.

“Get off the damned horse, wench.  We have matters to discuss.  But first I need to see that wound.”

Brienne dismounted with her jaw set, unwilling to meet his eyes.  Whatever the truth was, she would not be able to keep it from him for long.  She was not using her left arm at all, cradling it as subtle as she could across her belly.  As he tied her horse up, she shuffled her boots in the dirt, then adjusted her hold on her left arm, leather creaking.

He led her beyond the prying eyes of his men, and once they were alone in the dilapidated cottage he had claimed for his own, she began to protest.

“Ser Jaime, I must insist we leave at once.  Every moment that passes puts -”

Jaime held up his stump, meaning to silence her with a wave of his phantom hand.  He dropped it in consternation, but she did not seem to notice.  Her beautiful blue eyes, set in her wide, pale face still refused to look at him squarely.

“My lady, your stubbornness persists I see.”  He lifted the lone candle that lit the dreary room closer to her face, the flame illuminating a host of new bruises and cuts that marred her cheeks and forehead.  Somehow, it made her face more interesting to him, more alive.  But that bandage, he needed to see what was behind it.  If truly a bite, it could fester quickly.  “Let me see that wound.  It may need more than a bandage to heal.”  He put the candle down, then reached forward with his good hand, toward the fabric.

Brienne jerked her head back from him, like a beaten dog would cower from even a gentle touch, and then her eyes finally met his and all he saw was terror.  His stomach lurched, and he swallowed dryly.   _Gods, I have sent a maid into a hell into which I would not have sent even the most seasoned of knights._

“Just let me look,” he said and she allowed him to peel the filthy bandage from her cheek.  Beneath was a deep, purple wound, the edges jagged with ripped flesh.  Pale red muscle lay exposed where the bite went the deepest.  He felt the corner of his lip begin to turn up in a sneer of disgust, but he caught himself.  “What manner of beast did this to you?  Wolf?  Bear?”  But he thought he already knew, and a wave of hot anger began to rise up in his chest.

Brienne looked off into a dark corner of the room, turning her eyes from the light of the candle.  “A man, Ser Jaime.”  He thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill forth, but only for a moment.  She was too proud for that.

“Seven hells, Brienne, tell me his name.  Tell me his name, and I swear I will put an end to him.  I should have never sent you out there,” he said with a growl.

“He’s dead already,” Brienne said with a tinge of satisfaction.  She allowed him to inspect the wound as he let his temper cool.  The edges of the gaping hole were rimmed with hot, red skin.  It was localized, but a human bite was a dangerous thing and prone to fester.

“You need a maester, my lady,” he said in a commanding tone, ready for her objection.

“There is no time for that.  You must come with me at once,” she said with a hint of exasperation.

“Why is that?  Does the Hound have some sort of pressing engagement that he cannot wait for us?”  Jaime pressed his lips together as he watched the internal struggle play out across her face.  She was a horrible liar.  That was the risk of being so damned honorable - she had no practice in deception.

“Ser Jaime, forgive me but I have misled you.  I have not found Sansa.”

“Then what do you need from me?”

“The Brotherhood Without Banners has taken Podrick Payne and Ser Hyle Hunt captive.  They mean to hang them if I do not bring you to their leader, the Lady Stoneheart.”

“You know where they are camped?”   _I will descend upon them with the full force of Riverrun, and slaughter them for the bandits they are._

“I swore an oath, Ser Jaime.”

“Oh gods, to whom now?  You are amassing far too many oaths than is good for you, my lady.”   _Trust me, I know._

“It is my old oath to the Lady Catelyn Stark.  It’s her, Jaime.  They call her Lady Stoneheart.  The Brotherhood took her body from the Green Fork, and a red priest brought her back to life.”  Brienne began to ramble.  “She is terrible and vengeful, and looks like a rotted corpse, but somehow she is alive.”

“Truly?” Jaime’s mind reeled.  What dark magic did these red priests wield that could bring a woman, dead and bloated, back to life?  He’d heard her throat was slit so deeply that her head had been barely attached to her body.

Brienne nodded, and as she did, he caught a glimpse of a hot red line beneath her jaw.  He reached out and lifted her chin up and saw a rope burn running from one side of her thick neck to the other.  A hangman’s noose.   _Looks like that thick neck served you well, wench._  But the amusing thought was fleeting.

“Tell me where the camp is, and we will free the knight and Podrick and be done with this mess.”

“I have sworn my sword to Lady Catelyn.  I will not break my oath to her.”

“Lady Catelyn died at the Twins.  Your allegiance ended then with Catelyn Stark’s natural life.  This abomination, this creation of the red priest, is not your Lady Catelyn.  The Catelyn I know would be tearing apart the Seven Kingdoms in search of her daughters, not sending vigilantes across the riverlands to terrorize the King’s Peace.”

He felt for her, he truly did, being caught between two perceived duties.  The defining moment of his life had been the same struggle.  The moment that had earned him the title Kingslayer.

Then she dropped her head to her chest, a damp blond lock of hair falling across her forehead.  “I’m sorry, Ser Jaime.  I don’t know what I meant to do once we got there, but I would have died before I let them kill you.”  A tear rolled down her cheek and into the damp bandage that was partially hanging from her face.

A knot tightened in his chest, and he placed his good hand on her shoulder with a sigh.  Crying women were not his forte, but he stooped down to look up into her eyes, forcing her watery blue to meet his sharp green.  “Why thank you, my lady.  Tell me it’s not only my good looks that so endear me to you that you would lay down your life for mine.”  Then he smirked at her and cocked an eyebrow.

To his relief, she smiled and swatted his arm from her shoulder.  Then she swiped the lone wet trail of her one tear from her cheek.  “Your looks are passable, but I’ve seen more handsome men than you.”

 _Ah, Renly._  But he kept that to himself.

“How long have you been searching for me?”

“Only a day.  You were easy to find.”

“Alright.  Tomorrow I will find someone to dress that wound properly, and then together we will go rescue this Ser Hyle and the young squire Podrick.”  He said so with an air of confidence, and he felt it right down to his bones, though he did not know why.   _The wench and I are a formidable team.  And I have been practicing._  Would that be enough?

They lay down, back to back, in the half-rotted bed in the corner of the shack.  Sheer exhaustion keep her from protesting.  Jaime fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind of which he had not had in many months.

 

He woke the next morning to a woman in his arms, with his left hand resting on the inward curve of her waist and his hips pressed against the swell of her backside.  Groggily, he opened his eyes and got his bearings.  Brienne was still asleep, and he carefully pulled his hips back before she woke to the hardness of his morning arousal.  He wondered what the Maid of Tarth would think of that.   _No doubt she would be offended, or maybe curious… or perhaps-_

Brienne stirred beneath his hand that was still at her waist, but he did not pull it away.  It felt good to touch a woman, even it it was her.   _Or especially because it is her?_

She rolled over without warning, and she lay to face him, her brow wrinkled with disapproval, but she did not get up.

He studied her face, a broad, pale map of scrapes and scars.  She had fine, arched eyebrows that framed her vibrant sapphire eyes.  Without thinking, he raised his hand to her face and traced a few of the thin, linear cuts near her temple.  Still, she didn’t pull away.  In fact, she did not move at all, just looked straight at him with unreadable eyes.   _What am I doing?  And what are you thinking, wench?_

Then there was a timid knock on the shack’s door.  “Ser Jaime?”  Young Hoster Blackwood’s voice called.  Jaime suddenly found the lad’s voice extremely annoying.

“What, boy?”

“The men are breaking their fast and packing up camp.  They told me to come wake you.”

 _Of course they did._  Surely word had spread at the camp that a woman had come to him late at night, and that she was still in there.  He could imagine the sniggers as they watched the young, naive hostage interrupt whatever they thought was going on within.

Brienne rolled away from him and began to dress herself in her armor.  Jaime did the same, and as she strapped Oathkeeper around her solid hips, he folded his arm across his chest.  The strange spell had broken and they were now nothing more than brothers-in-arms.

“How far is the camp from Riverrun?” he asked

“Close, a morning’s ride perhaps.  Why?”

“In that case, I am taking you to the maester there.  Trust me, my lady, a human bite is a filthy wound, and it will not delay us.  Don’t make me put you in fetters, because you know I will.”  He smiled at her as a pink flush spread across her cheeks.

The lighthearted moment was short lived.  “I need to get back to Pod.  He is just a boy, and my squire.  His blood will be on my hands. I will not delay any longer.”

He saw the conviction in her eyes and the fear that even now they would be too late.  The boy was important to her.  The embodiment of innocence, of those needing protection.  He would do as she wished and leave at once, but not without speaking to his captains first.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

“I must say, my Lady of Tarth, this is not what I had in mind.”  Jaime walked behind Brienne with ropes around his arms.  She trudged forward tenaciously through the underbrush as he struggled to keep his balance.  “I respect you for playing the part, but can we slow down a bit?”

“My apologies.”  She slowed her pace.  In truth, she just wanted this over with.  He had conceded to bypassing Riverrun, after she had promised to go directly there afterwards.  Jaime told her he had been practicing with his off hand, but if his negotiations fell through, which surely they would, how would two fair against dozens?  Maybe if they could free Pod and Ser Hyle quickly.   _Could I raise my sword to Catelyn Stark?_  She pushed the thought away.

They were a mile from camp, and she was surprised the Brotherhood’s scouts had not found them yet.  A cool autumn breeze touched her face except for the part that was gnawed and raw.  Her hair tickled at her temple, and with a sudden flush of heat, she was reminded of Jaime’s touch.  He had been disturbed by her appearance, the bite, her haggard face.   _My face was never comely, so what does it matter?_

As they drew nearer and nearer to the camp without a scout to be found it became apparent that something was wrong.

“This is not right,” she said quietly.  “We are almost upon the camp and-”

“Brienne,” Jamie said.  He was peering through the trees with a dark look in his eyes.  Brienne followed his gaze, and she saw the outline of a body hanging from a tree branch, swinging gently in the breeze.

“No!  No!” she yelled and sprinted clumsily to the tree, Jaime forgotten behind her. _Not Podrick, please, don’t let it be Pod._  As she drew near she could see it was not him, but Ser Hyle Hunt.  His face was purple and his eyes bulged from his skull.  She felt a flood of relief, followed by guilt that she was thankful to find it was him instead of her squire.

Jaime caught up moments later.

“It is Ser Hyle.”  Brienne thought back to her days as part of Renly’s kingsguard.  Ser Hyle had been part of the wager for her maidenhead, but he had made her smile all the same.  She climbed the young oak tree and cut him down, then Jaime helped her bury him beneath the sandy earth at the base of the tree.  They spoke no words to each other, just bent to the task at hand.  

Once they were finished, Jamie spoke.  “He must have fought, elsewise they would have hanged them both.  Podrick is yet alive.”

Brienne nodded, wanting to believe him.  “We will track them from the camp, then, as far as we can before nightfall.”

Jaime silently agreed, but had one request.  “Can you free me of my tethers, my lady?  Unless you had some other less noble purpose for keeping me tied up.”  He grinned at her, and she feigned disapproval.

“Yes, for now,” she said and cut his arms loose.  Seeing Ser Hyle, dead and stiff, reminded her of the shadow, of Renly lying at her feet in a pool of his own blood.  A red priestess had used blood magic to kill him, and now, yet another red priest was the cause of an evil in her life.   _What do they want with us, that they meddle and murder with abandon?_

They came upon the empty camp.  Brienne’s eyes searched the treeline for any more swinging bodies, fervently praying that she found none.

“There is nothing here, Brienne,” Jaime said as he touched her forearm, bringing her out of her stupor.

They moved through the empty camp and tracked the Brotherhood until nightfall.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Once they found the Brotherhood, things did not go as planned.  Jaime had figured they wouldn’t, but as he lay in a puddle of mud as warhorses thundered around him, he had not thought it would go this poorly.  His world was a blur of enormous hooves stomping about his head, quivering flanks that steamed in the night air, and the occasional gleam of torchlight as it broke through the swarm of Lannister cavalry and men of the Brotherhood.

“Brienne!” he bellowed, but he could barely hear his own voice above the cacophony of screaming horses, shouting men, and the moaning of the wounded and dying.  Podrick lay by his side; the squire was alive and well, thank the gods.  Brienne would have been inconsolable, and the thought of it alone made his heart ache.  Then above it all, an ear-piercing shriek broke through the night.

“Kill him!” Stoneheart screeched.  There was a break in the crowd around him, and then he saw the cowled form of the creature formerly known as Catelyn Stark.  Her eyes glowed red within her withered skull and she pushed back her hood to reveal her face.  It looked unnatural, as if it were made of clay, or perhaps butter melting in the sun, and crusted scars marred her cheeks.  She’d clawed at her own face in the end, Jaime recalled.  Then, she fell forward onto her hands and began crawling across the muddy ground coming right for him.  She moved like a spider, faster than logic would have allowed, spastic and grotesque.  Jaime lay transfixed in the mud, watching, unable to look away from what he would never have imagined even in his nightmares.

He reached for his dagger with numb fingers.

Then, Brienne appeared.  She was so big she blocked out the light of the torches as she came up behind Stoneheart and rammed her sword through the back of her head.  Stoneheart hissed and squealed like a pig being slaughtered, and it made Jaime’s skin crawl and his stomach turn.  Thick, black blood oozed from her eyes, but Brienne was not done yet.  She pulled back the sword and finished her with a single-handed swing through her neck.  Then she fell to the ground and Jaime lost sight of her in the crowd.

“Ser Jaime!” Ser Rymore, one of his captains, called down to him from horseback.  They’d been looking for him no doubt, and Jaime could see the relief in the man’s eyes.  “Get on!”

“No, take the boy,” Jaime commanded as he hauled Podrick to his feet.

“Aye, ser,” the captain said with an unflinching calmness and dutifulness.  Ser Rymore  was older than him, with a grizzly white beard and eyebrows to match.  Rymore wiped his blood-slick leather glove on his pant leg then reached his hand down to bring Pod up into the saddle.

“Gather the men at Pennytree and return to Riverrun.  Tell the Maester I will have need of him when I arrive.”

Ser Rymore nodded to him then galloped back into the fray.  Podrick clung to his waist and looked back at Jaime.  No words were needed; the boy’s face said it all.  Find his lady knight and keep her safe.

Jaime drew his sword and felt the grip in his left hand.  It still felt wrong, but it was better than before.  His practice with Ser Ilyn had helped, but as he came through the crowd and saw the Hound pummeling his blade against Brienne’s, he wondered if it would be enough.

Brienne was down on one knee, parrying the blows as best she could with only one arm.  Jaime skirted around the headless corpse of Stoneheart, afraid her clawed hand would reach out and grab his ankle.  As he drew closer, he saw that the Hound wore a garish yellow cloak and that he was in fact not the Hound at all, but some man wearing his helm.

“You would strike down a wounded lady?” Jaime yelled.

The yellow-cloaked man turned to face him.  “I serve the Lord of Light, and your lady just murdered one of his servants, Lannister.”

“And what a lord he is, to create such a monster.  Tell me, what would the Stark girls think if they saw what this lord had done to their mother?”

That gave the man pause, but only for a moment.  “You are a murderer.” The man stepped closer, and with every step, added another insult.  “Kingslayer, oathbreaker, sisterfucker… a man without honor!”  The yellow cloak swirled in the air as he raised his sword and swung.

Jaime raised his own and blocked the blow easily.  A flurry of thrusts and cuts followed, but Jaime danced around them and the steel sang in his hand.  It was his left hand, his wrong hand, but a need had overtaken him, violent and strong and nearly more than he could stand.  The need to protect Brienne.

Everything came together then, and he charged at the yellow-cloaked man and quickly had him on his heels.  He did not need to think about it, everything happened naturally.  Whatever he wanted his blade to do, it did, and then with a strong back-handed swing he knocked his opponent’s sword from his hands.

“Do you surrender?” Jaime asked.  The forest was quiet now, the rest of the Brotherhood was either dying or had run off.

“My good wife and daughter are dead.  I have no one.  Give me a clean death, Kingslayer.”

Jaime looked over to where Brienne kneeled in the dirt next to Stoneheart’s corpse.  Her back was to him, but he saw her sword laying on the ground, the hilt dangling from her limp fingers.

He turned back to the yellow-cloaked man and granted his request.  The sword struck true, and the man’s head hit the ground with a dull thud and his bushy brown beard rolled face down into the mud.

“Brienne.”  Jaime approached her tentatively placed his hand on her shoulder.

She jumped at his touch, then turned her tear-streaked face to him.

“Podrick?” she asked.

“He’s with one of my captains.  He’s alright.”  Jaime’s brow furrowed as he watched her.  She’d struck down her Lady Catelyn.  Even though she was only a husk of her former self, Jaime feared what it would do to Brienne.  But to his surprise, she nodded and took a deep breath.

“Good,” she said.

He brought her to her feet and helped her sheath Oathkeeper.  Her hand trembled in his, and it was much more intimate than he had intended, but instead of shying away he drew closer.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his cheek touching hers as he whispered in her ear.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, and his heart clenched in his chest.

“Now, I insist you allow me to take you to Riverrun.  Elsewise, I will have no choice but to arrest you and take you there in fetters.  You’ll do the Stark girls no good if you’re dead of your injuries.”

She smiled just a bit and the broken skin of her cheek pulled with the motion.  “Alright.”

Only then did Jaime notice that some of his soldiers were gathered awkwardly at the other side of the camp, watching this exchange.

“Horses,” he called.

_No matter, let them watch._

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

When they arrived at Riverrun, it was as if he had woken up from a nightmare.  The image of Stoneheart would forever be imprinted in his mind, but now that he was back to the normalcy of the castle, it was hard to believe it had actually happened.  The men addressed him as Lord Commander, and people stayed out of his way.  Brienne would make a full recovery under the Maester’s care, though her face would forever be scarred.

He gave Brienne a wide berth.  Her mental state had deteriorated on the road back to Riverrun.  Jaime wanted to hover over her to see that her needs were met and that the Maester gave her his full attention, but he restrained himself.  She would not have appreciated that.

Besides Brienne, the only other problem was that the castle was stuffed full to the brim.  There were too many soldiers residing within its walls, and on top of that, it seemed every lord and knight had brought his lady wife and children.  The realm was too unstable to leave their womenfolk and babes at home at mercy to the bandits marauding the lands.  The whispers of women and the giggling of children filled the stone hallways.

“My Lord Commander, there is no private room available for her,” Emmon Frey’s castellan told him shakily.

“You’re telling me that there is not a single room in this entire castle to house the Lady of Tarth?”

“That is correct, Lord Commander.  The men have brought all their women with them.  If you like, I could put her with some of them, some of the lords’ ladies.”

Jamie scowled.  Brienne would kill him if he willfully subjected her to that, and it was apparent that she needed her privacy.   _Gods know I did, those many years ago._

“Take her to my chambers for now.  Give her some of my clean clothes and send serving women for a bath if she wishes.”

The castellan looked surprised, but quickly squared his face and bowed to him.  “Yes, Lord Commander.”

 

That evening, the Maid of Tarth entered the hall with her stubborn chin held high.  She wore a pair of his pants and a plain shirt, the pants just slightly too short for her, exposing a flash of pale ankle when she walked.  Jaime felt a hitch in his throat when he laid eyes upon her, but she met his gaze with a steady blue one.  Did she remember him stroking her face, staring into her unwavering eyes?  He had been half asleep though, and she even moreso.  But something about her was different.  Her hips swayed as she walked, and her eyes were dark and broody.   _It must be the wine, because if anything, the wench is even uglier now than before._  He’d been there when the maester had told her there was nothing else he could do for her cheek, that the scar would be wide and deep.  Brienne had just grunted in reply.

Jaime waved his good hand to her, and she strode over to him.  He shifted down on the bench and she climbed in beside him.  “How is Pod?” she asked.

Jaime grinned and dipped his bread into the grease on his plate.  “He is faring well enough.  He has attracted the attention of the maester’s girls, and they are quite fond of him, from what I hear.”

Brienne blushed, then arched a delicate brow, so out of place on her broad face.  “I am glad Pod is being taken care of.”  She glanced down the table to where Pod sat amongst a group of girls.  He smiled and nodded to them, then caught Brienne’s eye and waved.  She waved back.  “He seems well.”

Jaime laughed at that, a long rolling chuckle.  “But how are you, my Lady Brienne?” he asked as he looked at the clean, white linen bandage covering her bite mark.

“Well enough, though the maester says it has begun to fester.  You were right,” she said, grudgingly, “The bite of a human is a foul wound.”  She looked to him.

“So Ser Jaime was right, after all?  I must mark this in the white book.  ‘Today, Ser Jaime, Kingslayer, was deemed correct in his assessment of a wound, according to Brienne, Maid of Tarth.  He is clearly the most intelligent and rational man alive.”

Brienne made a face, some strange mix of both a smile and a scowl.

“A jape, my lady,” he said.  “Will you not eat anything?  You must be starving.”

Brienne nodded and reached for a trencher to fill her plate.  He could smell her clean scent mixed with the aromatic herbs the maester had used in the poultice for her cheek, and her hair shone in the torchlight, a spun white gold.  She must have taken the time to let the serving woman brush it out.

“Thank you,” she rumbled from somewhere deep within her chest.  “I could not have done it alone.”  Then she looked at him.  “Though I feel that I need to rename my sword.”

Jaime thought on that, then answered.  “Sometimes oaths and honor conflict with one another.  If a man lives long enough, eventually they become a knotted and tangled.”  He tilted his head towards Pod, who ate with an innocent abandon at the other end of the table.  “Only look there to see that you made the right choice.”  Jaime stood and yawned, stretching his arms over his head

“Thank you for allowing me to use your room.”

“The pleasure was all mine, my Lady Brienne,” he bowed to her with a smirk, then stopped at the end of the table to put a hand on Podrick’s shoulder before leaving the great hall.

 

Back in his chambers, a low fire burned.  He sat down and propped his feet up.

 _I love you.  I love you.  I love you._  Cersei’s words played again in his mind, for what must have been the thousandth time.   _How are you faring, sister?  I am short a hand, but you are short a heart._ The fire danced and he could smell the parchment of her letter burning all over again.  Then another memory overtook him, the smell of burning flesh, the smell of the men, noble and traitorous alike, that the Mad King had burned.  He felt his head bobbing, and his eyes grew heavy as he fell into a fitful sleep.

 

_A banging on his chamber door roused him, and the fire flickered blue in the hearth.  He strode to the door and threw it open, bare-chested, though he did not feel underdressed.  Ser Rymore stood before him, sword drawn and out of breath as if he’d just run up the entirety of the castle steps in full armor._

_“Ser Jaime, come at once.  We need you now as we have never needed you before!”_

_“What’s wrong, man?” Jaime asked as he strapped his sword about his waist and followed his captain into the hallway._

_“A creature has swum the moat and scaled the outer wall.”  He looked scared, and seeing his seasoned captain frightened gave Jaime pause._

_“What manner of beast is this?”_

_“It’s a woman, rotten and vile.  She crawls along as a spider, twisted and unnatural.  She is heartless, without a soul, and she is snatching the soldiers one by one.”_

_“The Lady Stoneheart,” Jaime said.  “I thought Brienne had killed her once and for all.”_

_“She says she is coming for you, Ser.  Best prepare yourself.”_

_Rymore led him out into the cool night air.  The torches glowed blue and his men stood like statues, as if frozen in place._

_“Where is the Lady Brienne?” he asked Rymore._

_“Who?  There are no ladies here.  Only heartless women.”_

_Jaime’s mind spun, and then suddenly Rymore was bellowing and charging down the rampart.  Stoneheart burst over the wall, her cowl hanging low over her face.  But Jaime knew what lay beneath.  She lunged at Rymore and began to claw at his face.  Rymore screamed._

_“Stop!  That man has not wronged you.  You are looking for me, and here I am.”_

_Stoneheart looked up at the sound of his voice.  Two eyes glowed beneath the cowl.  Green flames set in a black darkness.  They had not been green before, Jaime thought.  Then she ambled to him and the wind caught her hood and blew it back.  Cersei.  It was Cersei, and she tackled him to the ground and wrapped her clawed hands around his neck.  The world closed in and began to go dark, and then Brienne appeared and with one sure swing of Oathkeeper, took off his sister's head._

_“Brienne, I thought I’d lost you.”_

_She only looked down at him as she sheathed Oathkeeper, then regarded him with a nod._

 

Jaime woke to a fire that still crackled, and he could hear voices from the great hall.  The revelry had not yet ended for the night.  He was hotter than the seven hells sitting so close to the fire, and his tunic clung damp to his skin.  He stood and opened the shutters of the only window in the room to let in the cold night air of late autumn.  Winter was coming, but he pulled his tunic off anyway, and stood in the frame of the window, desperate to be cool.  Desperate to be rid of the dream.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Brienne trudged up the stairs to her borrowed room.  She was unsure where Jaime was sleeping, most likely with one of his Lannister kin that were occupying the castle under Emmon Frey.  She was full and tired and clean from her bath.  The soft feathers of a mattress were all that she would need to fall asleep.

 _What will come to me when I do close my eyes?  Renly?  Lady Catelyn?  I have failed them both._ But she had not failed Podrick.  Chivalry and honor, what had once seemed so clear to her, had become a cloudy pool of grey.  But when she had run her sword through Lady Stoneheart’s head and all that had spurted forth was a thick, coagulated blackness, she had known she had made the correct choice.   _Jaime was right - Catelyn Stark died at the Twins long ago.  Maybe he should write that down in his white book as well._  She smiled as she pushed open the door to her room.

Once the door swung open, she froze in the doorway.  Jaime stood with his back to her, arms braced across the frame of the window that lay open before him.  The firelight flickered across his back, highlighting every defined inch of muscle and bare skin.

Her throat felt dry, and her heart raced in her chest as he turned to face her.

“My lady,” he said.

“Ser Jaime, I had not thought to find you here.”  She felt a blush rise up her neck.

“I’m sorry, Brienne.  I thought you would be sleeping with the women folk.”  He arched a brow at her.

“Yes, of course.  I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.  “Don’t be.  I could use some company.  I have not heard the details of your glorious quest yet, and you know I love a good story.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

To his surprise, she stayed and told him all that had transpired since he had charged her with the damned task.  The story flowed smoothly until she got to Biter.  Of all the things that had happened to her, this appeared to be the most upsetting.   _I should have been there.  I would have turned his head to pulp before he could lay a finger on you._

“I am fine.  It will heal, and what is another scar to me.”

“I am sorry, Brienne.”  He scooted his chair close to hers, to face her, one of his knees between her own.  Her first instinct was to pull away at the contact, but he put his hand on her forearm, and she relaxed.  The touch felt natural yet electric at the same time.   _Come closer to me, wench._ He wanted to hold her, take her in his arms and protect her.  But he knew she would hate that.  He wanted to sleep back to back with her and in the morning, wake up to stroke her face again.   _Gods, do I want that.  But do you?_  He turned her hand over in his and rubbed her callused palm with his thumb.

She allowed it for a fleeting moment, then grabbed his wrist with her other hand.  “I am _fine_.”

She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin.  He swallowed, his throat dry.  “I know.”

Then his nerves got the best of him and he stood, and she promptly released his arm.  In all his life, he had never pursued a woman.  It had always been Cersei. Of course, he’d had more women than he could count throw themselves at him - but this, he was wholly unprepared for.

Her next words took him unawares.

“Did you really dream of me?” she asked quietly as she stared into the fire.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Jaime looked at her from where he stood by the hearth and furrowed his brow.

“At Harrenhal, you said you came back because of a dream.”  She fought against a wave of hot embarrassment.   _He does not even remember._

“Oh, that dream.  You are in my dreams often so I needed you to be more specific.”  He folded his arms across his bare chest.   _He mocks me,_ she thought, _And why does he not put some bloody clothes on?_

“Yes, that was the first.  We were trapped together beneath the Rock, fighting some beast.  Why do you ask?  Have you dreamed of me?”  He leaned against the stonework, his breeches hanging precariously upon his chiseled hips.

 _Constantly, and they are enough to make even you blush, ser.  Kingslayer’s Whore._  It had felt good to silence the Brotherhood’s taunting mouths with a kiss of steel.  “I think in a fever, once,” she muttered.

“I hope I did not disappoint you,” he jested, then paused, and with an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice, he said, “It is late, and I would have you stay here.  There are too many strange faces about the castle.”

She bristled.  “Ser Jaime, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yes, yes, I know.  Gods, you are stubborn, wench.  I feel sorry for your future husband.”

“I’ve told you before, I will never marry.”

“What a shame,” he said as he strode over to her, “That no man will ever know you.  It’s a waste, truly.  Ever since I saw you in the baths, those long legs have been burned into my memory.”  He had his swagger back, the devil-may-care look in his eyes.  “I would have you stay here, Brienne.”

Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear his words, and the room went dark around her until all there was was Jaime.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

When she didn’t answer, he became worried and said more.

“You can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor before the fire.”  It would be plenty warm there, he told himself, though not as warm as sharing a bed with her.  But he’d said too much already, and he did not wish to make her uncomfortable.

She nodded her assent, then promptly walked across the room, removed her boots, and climbed into bed fully clothed.

“Thank you,” she said from beneath the blankets.  Her back was to him, and she looked comfortable enough.

“Goodnight,” he replied then sat down once more before the fire.  Before long, he also dozed off.

 

In the middle of the night, a strangled moan woke him.  The fire had gone low, so it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.  Brienne was breathing raggedly, whimpering from his bed across the room.

“Ah gods, the fever,” he said aloud as he ran over to her and put his palm across her forehead.  But she was blessedly cool to the touch, and then he realized she was dreaming.  Her teeth clenched and she arched her back, exposing the underside of her jaw and the fading bruises there.  Her breath came short and fast, and then her hand began to claw at her neck.   _She’s dreaming she’s being hanged._

If he could kill the men who’d done it to her a thousand times, it would still not be enough.  He sat on the edge of the bed and shook her by the shoulder.

“Brienne.  Brienne, wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered and she gasped as she grabbed his arm in an iron grip.

“Brienne, you were dreaming,” he said sternly.

She looked up at him and then recognition dawned in her eyes and she let go of his arm to lay back on the pillow.  Her panting was the only sound in the room.

“I know what they did to you, Brienne.  But you’re safe now.  It’s over.”  He wanted to touch her again, but he held back, giving her time.  Finally she spoke.

“When I was young, growing up on Tarth, I could never have fathomed that people could be this terrible to one another.  Even in Renly’s camp, the men were cruel and mocking, but nothing could have prepared me for this.  Look at me.  Look at me!” she growled and grabbed his arm again.

Jaime swallowed down a lump in his throat but met her eyes.

“I’ve been beaten and hanged and eaten.   _Eaten_ , Jaime.  I saw him.  He bit into my face and then chewed it up, like it was a shank of lamb.”  Her voice echoed hard and angry in the silent room.

“Brienne,” he began, but she kept going.

“And as if I were not homely enough, now I have a gaping hole in my face.  I can never forget what happened even if I wanted to.  I have a constant reminder.  Every time someone looks at me and cringes I will be reminded of what he did to me.”  Then her tears began to fall.  “I feel a fool for being so vain, Jaime, but I am a ruin.”

He took her into his arms then and pulled her against his chest.  Sobs wracked her body as her face nestled into the crook of his neck.  Her tears fell wet against his skin, and he held onto her fiercely.  The sudden bloom of love he felt for her nearly tore him apart and he felt his own tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

He kissed the top of her head, and the scent of her clean hair filled his nose.  He nuzzled into it and felt her arms slide around him.  He moved his lips to her forehead and cradled her face in his hand as he kissed her again.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Without warning or preamble, something uncoiled within her chest and she felt every muscle in her body relax.  She thought she should be nervous or shy, but after everything she’d been through, she would seize this moment.

He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered to her.

“Brienne, I know you will think me false, but believe me when I tell you, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”  Jaime’s voice caught in his throat.  “When you smiled in the great hall this past evening, I thought it.  When I see you with steel singing in your hands, I know it.  Anytime you grace me with your presence, I feel it.”

His lips sought hers and she tilted her head up to him.  He pressed his mouth against hers for one sweet moment, then pulled back and crushed her against him again.  She could feel his chest rise and fall, his heart hammer against hers.  And then his lips were at her neck and she let out a sigh, a breath she had not even realized she’d been holding in.

He laid her back on the pillow and moved his mouth against her tear-stained cheek, then down her neck.  She put her hands in his hair and let the golden strands slip between her fingers.  Her thighs spread apart of their own volition, allowing his hips to nestle between them.  She nearly gasped when she felt his manhood, hard and erect, between her legs, and was reminded that for all that she had seen, she was yet a maiden.

He chuckled against her skin as if he could read her mind.

“I’m sorry, wench.  I don’t mean to scare you, but perhaps you will believe me now.”  He returned to kiss her mouth again, and she felt his tongue slide against her lips, begging entrance, and she parted them.  He slid his tongue against hers, then pulled back to speak.  “I want you as I have never wanted anything in my life.  But I will not dishonor you… at least not tonight.”

He grinned and raked his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back to kiss the expanse of her chest and collarbone that lay bare above the neckline of her shirt.  He slid his thumb across the bruises beneath her jaw with a solemn reverence.

“I’m sorry I sent you out there alone.  Had I known…”

“No,” Brienne said.  “Don’t apologize.  I make my own choices.”  She placed her hands on his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble of his beard beneath her fingertips, and kissed him, following his example and slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He groaned at that and ground his hips against her.  “Lady Brienne, you are most wanton,” he teased.  “You do realize that after this there will be no getting rid of me.  I would follow you to the Wall and back in your search for the Stark girls.”

“That would be fine, Ser.  Your sword work has improved.”

Jaime smiled.  “You have no idea, wench.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta-ed and I apologize for any and all errors! A few of the phrases are from another fic of mine, so I’m sorry if anything sounds too familiar, but some of this was actually written a long time ago :D


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